


back when i was living for the hope of it all

by archers_and_spies



Series: when you are young, they assume you know nothing [2]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Fast-Paced Relationship, Song: august (Taylor Swift), Summer, it's not a love triangle if the girls don't also have a tiny thing for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29131557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archers_and_spies/pseuds/archers_and_spies
Summary: “Have I told you about Natasha? I must have, at some point,” he says without stopping on the high of the night, and Bobbi’s heart sinks, because one look at the widest, warmest smile she’s ever seen on his face and she knows the truth for real now.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Series: when you are young, they assume you know nothing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979620
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	back when i was living for the hope of it all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clintasherson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clintasherson/gifts).



> honey, you got a big storm coming *breakdances*

_Salt air, and the rust on your door_

_I never needed anything more._

**——**

The roof of Bobbi’s convertible is folded down when she cruises through the streets of the town. The song on the radio is blasting at full volume and she takes her hair out of her ponytail just to feel the sunset wind mess it up.

She stops beside a figure with his head bowed and shoulders scrunched inwards. He looks up at her, and it crosses her mind that he’s way too pretty to be sad during the holidays.

“Clint, right?” she says, pushing her sunglasses up. The mess of his blond hair and curious blue eyes are way too stereotypical for her to ever forget, though she supposes everyone looks at her the same. Barton, though, he’s got a tragic backstory involving abusive parents and hearing loss and car crashes—the very shit high-schoolers eat up and teachers pretend to sympathise with. “Bobbi. From prom, remember?”

He nods, smiles politely. “I remember.”

“Well. No offense, but you look miserable. You got time for a drive ‘round town?”

Clint shrugs, “Guess I do.” 

He climbs into the passenger seat. Bobbi looks across at him and feels excitement ignite across her skin.

**——**

His hair is illuminated by the glow from the drive-thru’s light and he’s munching on the burger in his paper bag like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten.

“You’re gross,” Bobbi decides, reaching for his fries. “Just don’t get the car dirty.”

Clint looks up. “It was your idea to get fast food.”

“It was your idea to get _food_. At midnight. This was literally our only option.”

“Your fault you haven’t gotten rid of me yet,” he replies, and she swats at him playfully. “No, seriously, why are you keeping me around? I’m a bore.”

“No, you’re not,” she frowns. “Apparently, many people at our school find you interesting.”

“Interesting doesn’t always mean good.”

She gets it. She can’t really find the words to tell him the degree of which she understands, so instead she just nods along, playing the part of Barbara Morse, typical spoiled white girl who doesn’t actually know anything because she’s rich and won’t have to work anyway.

“So you only took me out for a drive because of the stigma that surrounds my name?” Clint asks light-heartedly.

“I took you out because you looked sad, and we’re teenagers, and teenagers shouldn’t be sad. Ever, but especially when school’s out.”

And then Clint leans forward quickly. For a heart-stopping split moment she thinks he’s going to kiss her, but all he does is reach out and slap the side of her arm.

“Ow,” she says, confused.

“Mosquito,” Clint explains, and sure enough when she looks down there’s a small red and black blotch on her skin. She takes one of the paper napkins that came with their meals and Clint continues, “Gotta watch out for them. Maybe we should get out of here. Or fold the roof down.”

“You just slapped—in the dark—you’ve got incredible aim, you know.”

“Oh, I do know,” he smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, I taught—” he stops abruptly.

“You taught what?” she asks tentatively after a few seconds.

“It doesn’t matter,” Clint says, suddenly closed off. “It’s late. We should go home.”

Bobbi drives him to the two-story house he lives in that she knows is empty, already feeling mosquito bites that Clint hadn’t been fast enough to prevent start itching. The system’s shit here and the town’s too small to care that they let him live on his own anyway. After all, it’s less than a year before he’s a legal adult.

“Hey,” she says, holding out a paper napkin she’d scribbled her number on. “Call me.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Clint winks as he takes the napkin and closes the car door. She waits until he’s inside the house before driving off, listening to nothing but the chirps of crickets.

**——**

It’s a little past one when she gets back to the mansion, but she’s stayed out even later before. She doesn’t even need to creep back in. Unlike Clint’s house, the mansion might not be totally empty of people, but it sure as hell is empty to _her_.

Bobbi goes upstairs and changes into a silk nightgown, puts a jacket on, climbs the stairs back down to the garden and finds her favourite stone bench to sit on. She’s learned it’s no use trying to force yourself to sleep, remembers all the times she’s lain awake sweating and staring at the little skylight in her ceiling.

Maybe half an hour passes, and she starts to regret it a bit, feeling the collection of mosquito bites on her legs grow. She gets up, planning to go back inside and see if Pepper’s awake to show her where the ointment is, but she rounds a corner and bumps into something moving and alive. The scream she lets out is inhuman, but she thinks she’s entitled—it’s one in the morning.

“Bloody hell,” the thing curses in a British accent, dropping a pair of pruning shears, and Bobbi realises he’s a gardener. “Sorry. Miss, please don’t scream.”

“Are you new?” she says. “Wait, no. I shouldn’t have asked that, because if you’re not new that would’ve hurt your feelings and—”

“I am new,” he clarifies, “which is why you need to keep it down. If I get fired, I’ll have no money for school, and I just came here from England.”

“Cool, cool. Pepper show you around?”

“No, it was Jane— _Janet_. On that note, I haven’t even met the big man of this house yet, and judging by the way everyone talks about him, I probably don’t want to.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. My dad’s on a business trip. Even if he weren’t, I barely see him anyway.”

He stares at her. “You’re his daughter. Barbara Morse.”

She cringes. “ _Please_ call me Bobbi. It’s not my fault I’m stuck with a name from the 1930s.”

“Okay, Bobbi. I’m Hunter, Lance Hunter. Amateur-slash-incompetent gardener, but don’t tell anyone or I might get f-worded. _Fired_ ,” he adds hastily.

“Don’t worry. We’re nice here.” Bobbi casually picks a berry from the bush beside them, pops it in her mouth, and starts walking past him back into the mansion. “It’s late, Hunter. Get some sleep.”

“I’m just doing my job, Miss,” he says, loud enough for her to hear. Pepper completely forgotten, she climbs back up the stairs to her room, already half-dreaming of fast food and fast aim.

**——**

Pepper stands under Bobbi’s doorway with her hands on her hips. Bobbi doesn’t move, and she huffs to get her attention.

She reluctantly looks up from her phone. “What?”

“ _What_ yourself. This is the third day in a row you haven’t gone out.”

Bobbi raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“It’s the summer holidays. This is not like you at all, Bobbi.” She crosses her arms.

“I’ve had no reason to go out,” Bobbi tries to reason.

“That’s bullshit. See, I know you love movies, but I also know you deliberately called Mack to tell him you weren’t going to his watch party yesterday.”

“I—wait, how?”

“I run this house, Bobbi, I have my ways.”

“It was the landline phone, wasn’t it?” She rolls her eyes. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“I’d say being inside for too long’s giving you an attitude, but you’ve just always been like this,” Pepper says. “Bobbi, seriously. You’ve been in here so long the room’s starting to smell; at least go out so you can give me a chance to clean it.”

“You’re not my mother,” Bobbi grumbles, but she’s gotten up from her couch and walking towards her closet, already planning an outfit in her head. 

If Clint Barton’s too chicken to even just call and ask her out, then she’ll do it herself.

**——**

She pulls up at Clint’s house after lunch when the afternoon sun hangs high and bright in the sky. Stepping out, she raises her hand to press the doorbell but pauses when the rust on the hinges of his door catches her eye.

She leans closer until her back is bent, inspecting the hinges for no good reason, except—

Except Pepper would never allow this in her mansion where she’s in charge. Except where she lives, everything is always kept so pristine she probably hasn’t seen rust in months. Except having the privilege of being able to spend money wherever she wants is fine, and she’s grateful for it, but a part of her has always wondered what it’d be like to live a lowlier life, one without the glamour and luxuries and neglectful father, one where she could return home to a small house with rust on the hinges of its front door every day.

Shaking this thought clear from her head—she didn’t come here to mope or have an internal crisis—she stands straight and presses the bell. What she did come for was a good time, and a blond boy with a crooked smile he probably doesn’t even know he has.

The door opens, and the hinges creak. Clint Barton is in a t-shirt and shorts that make him look even taller than he is, and Bobbi’s always thought she would never get the chance to be with anyone taller than herself, but Clint raises his eyebrows in a curious query and she thinks maybe she hit the jackpot this time.

Not that Clint’s her anything. Yet.

“I’ve been waiting for you to call for three days straight, you know,” Bobbi says, trying to pass it off as lighthearted like this mere fact hasn’t got even herself concerned. 

Clint chuckles, ducking his head for two seconds then looking back up. “Well, I’m truly sorry for that, Your Highness,” he teases. His eyes travel over her shoulder onto her car and he asks, “Where do you wanna go now?”

Bobbi smiles and reaches for his hand to lead him into her car.

**——**

The mall isn’t exactly big—it’s a small town, after all. That doesn’t matter, though; just by one look at Clint Bobbi can tell he’s probably never been to the higher floors of it, the floors where the more expensive things are sold. The floors where it’s empty and lonely. She leads him up the elevator and watches him try to disguise his intrigue as he looks around.

Clint leans in to smell her wrist. “I like this one,” he says.

“It’s the first one I’ve sampled,” says Bobbi, amused. A staff member looks on in curiosity— _who is this boy who looks like he knows nothing about sophistication or etiquette, and why is_ the _Barbara Morse here with him?_

“It smells nice,” he shrugs.

“Is it worth the price, though?” she replies, not giving a damn if the worker overhears. 

“Oh, I… I don’t know, I’m not… I don’t usually do this a lot?” He pulls a face, clearly trying not to accidentally say something that’ll offend her. Bobbi doubts it’s even possible, though. She’s seen what life’s like for Pepper, Maria, Clint. Not that she gets any say in the matter, but if anything, she deserves to be offended.

“No, you know what?” she decides. “You’re right. It does smell nice. I’ll take this, please; thank you.” She accepts the small bag the worker hands to her and makes her way up, Clint at her heels.

“Where to next?” she asks. They go through at least five more shops before finally sitting down for lunch. Clint doesn’t complain about how much they’ve walked and instead wolfs down his food just like he did at the drive-thru. Bobbi smiles and pays for the check.

After lunch, she buys them tickets to the front seats of the newest hit film (“I didn’t even know there was a _cinema_ in here, Bobbi”), and they stumble out with a genuine grin on his face until he spots something over her shoulder and the spark in his eyes wavers.

She whirls around to try and catch sight of whatever it was he saw, but all she manages to catch is a flash of red disappearing around the corner.

“What?” Bobbi says, turning back around.

“Nothing,” Clint says, shaking his head. “I thought it was… it doesn’t matter.”

He’s silent all the way back to the carpark, and then the whole of two minutes after she starts driving. Eventually, she stops the car where it’s not supposed to be stopped—not that fines would faze her, anyway—right behind the mall.

“Okay,” she says, hands on the steering wheel. “What’s wrong?”

He looks up, sharp jawbones and gentle eyes. “I…”

Suddenly, the space in the car becomes cramped and Bobbi wishes she’d folded the roof down. She’s painstakingly aware of every prick of heat at her neck and scalp and her arm twitches to itch it but she doesn’t dare move.

Clint Barton is kind and friendly, but he’s also excruciatingly intoxicating.

He kisses her first, and she’s reminded of their first night at the drive-thru in the same car. It’s her who breaks away to ask, “Are you sure?”

Bobbi Morse has had guys fall at her feet, tripping over themselves just for a word of approval and bragging about it for the next two weeks. Girls, well, she makes sure the letdown isn’t as brutal. 

Whatever this is, though, it’s different. Clint’s not humiliating himself just to make an impression. The other boys don’t want _her_ , they want the money and the status. Clint—she’s still not sure if he really does want her, but he’s not here for the money either, and that’s worth something. It’s definitely worth staying, at least for a little while.

“I’m sure,” he says, and she climbs into his lap and cups his face like he’s an oasis she’s stumbled upon in the middle of a desert.

**——**

**Maria Hill**

hill -

what was that girl’s name again -

the one who knows sign language -

\- romanoff?

\- natasha romanoff

\- why

\- hey morse i need to ask you something

\- i was at the mall earlier

\- and

\- you’re already gone, aren’t you

**——**

When Bobbi catches sight of her walking towards her from the front door of the mansion to the glassless windows of the first floor overlooking the garden, everything becomes obvious and _she should’ve known sooner, damn it_. 

Natasha Romanoff has red hair, and it makes sense; of course she does. The universe had probably been stubborn as a mule to make her unique and fiery in a way no one else is—

But needless to say, the simplest explanation would be that _she_ ’s what had shaken him at the mall the other day. He thought he’d seen her hair.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” says Natasha, awkwardly taking a seat next to hers on the window ledge. She holds herself like her stomach hurts and she’s trying not to let it show. “Your house is… really huge.”

“Eh.” Bobbi puts a foot on the ledge, looking out at the garden before looking back at Natasha. “I hear yours isn’t exactly small, either.”

“It’s not this—grand.” She looks around at the Greek-inspired architecture style billowing out and surrounding her. “And besides, Ivan never used to let me in the bigger rooms.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Used to?”

Natasha looks startled, like she just realised she’d said something she wasn’t supposed to. “He’s, uh… gone, now. At least _for_ now.”

“Is this about Clint?” Bobbi cuts to the chase. 

Natasha exhales like an awkward laugh. “Bobbi, I just want you to know there are no hard feelings; none. I can’t speak for you, but I honestly couldn’t hate you if I tried.”

“Good,” Bobbi smiles, and it’s not embarrassing to admit that a part of her _had_ been afraid of Natasha Romanoff holding a grudge against her, even if she doesn’t know her all that well yet. She doesn’t look like the type you could cross and walk out the other side unscathed, even if right now she’s gripping the edge of the ledge so tightly her knuckles are white.

“I mean, you’re perfect,” continues Natasha. “And I’m happy for you and Clint. I just want him to be _happy_. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Bobbi can tell Natasha isn’t entirely unlike herself. She probably doesn’t tell the truth a lot. But precisely because Bobbi recognises this inside her, she probably does for her too. In this small town-slash-world they live in, if they can’t trust people who are fundamentally like themselves, they can’t trust anyone.

So when Bobbi meets Natasha’s unrelenting, _vulnerable_ green look, she chooses to believe her.

“You love him,” she states more than asks.

“ _Postoyanno_ ,” Natasha responds easily. “Forever.”

Bobbi nods; she’d expected this. “So why are you here?”

“He is happy,” says Natasha, an extension of what she said earlier. “Right?”

“I’ll do my best,” Bobbi half-promises. _Happy_ is strangely subjective, anyway.

Natasha seems to understand that that’ll probably be all she’s going to get from her, and nods. She tells her, “I wanna see him. Is that okay?”

“Nat,” Bobbi says, so genuinely startled that the nickname slips out. “You don’t have to _ask_ me for permission to see him. That’s not how this works.”

“Right,” Natasha says. “Right. I’m sorry. It’s just—I don’t really know if I’m good for him anymore.”

“Natasha, you’re his best friend. I’ve known him for, what, half a year?” Bobbi smiles, lopsided. “You know better. You know _him_ better.”

She gets a small smile in return. “Thank you. Well—could you tell him that, uh, I’m hosting a party soon? My place, last day of summer holidays. He doesn’t _have_ to come, but...”

“Natasha Romanoff, hosting a party?” She’s not judging, but that doesn’t really match up with the description Hill had given her before this, and certainly not whoever this scared shell of a person is.

“What I said, about Ivan,” she clarifies. “He’s gone, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt this… unafraid. It’s weird, but I just wanted to see how far I could take it.”

Bobbi watches her mannerisms intently, how her cheeks are already slightly flushed from telling her the reason. She’s fascinating, and if Bobbi wasn’t half convinced Clint’s still fully in love with her, she would probably date her herself. “I’ll tell him. And everyone else in the grade,” she adds before Natasha can ask. Barbara Morse’s word, especially to boys, is considered final, and she knows this. She’s also experienced what it’s like to feel unhinged and reckless, and knows realistically Natasha would want as many people in the house as possible.

She’d want it to be absolutely trashed afterwards.

“I like you,” she smirks. “Practically a psychic. And, um, if you could…”

Natasha reaches into her bag, then stops.

“You know what? Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Just give it to me.” Bobbi holds out her hand expectantly.

Slowly, Natasha drops a light, cold chain into her hand—a necklace with a little silver charm.

“It’s an arrow,” she explains softly. “You know, because he does archery.”

“I… didn’t,” admits Bobbi.

“Oh.”

She clears her throat. “I’ll pass it to him, yeah.”

“Thanks,” Natasha says. “Again.”

Bobbi watches her get up and leave, the necklace tightly clutched in her hand.

**——**

She freezes at the base of the stairs abruptly, Clint’s hand still in hers.

“What is it?” he asks, scared and frozen too.

Bobbi flashes back to the half-vague memories of him telling her about a dad who always used to be drunk and violent, and decides she shouldn’t worry him too much.

“You know what?” she says, making sure he doesn’t turn around to see what’s behind their shoulders, already feeling the infamously familiar feeling of someone’s stare burning into her back. “You go on up first. My room’s the third down the right side of the third floor—it’s the biggest one; you’ll know it when you see it.”

“Okay,” he replies, uncertain. His hand slips out of hers as he goes up the stairs slowly, and once he’s out of sight, Bobbi whirls around. Pepper, fiddling with her fingers helplessly, stands fifteen feet behind Bobbi’s father, who’s apparently back from his “business trip” early.

“Was that a _boy_?” he starts, and Bobbi sighs inwardly. And outwardly, too.

“Yes, father.” She crosses her arms. “And?”

“You didn’t tell me you were having anyone over.”

“Didn’t think you’d have cared,” she shrugs and means every word.

“Hey, watch your tone, Barbara.”

“For the last time,” she says exasperatedly. “ _Bobbi_.”

He makes a face of disgust. “I’m not going to call you Bobby. That’s a boy’s name.”

“Bobbi with an _i_ ,” she rolls her eyes. “Besides, what would be wrong about me wanting a boy’s name anyway?”

“Enough talking back,” he orders, and Bobbi scoffs. “Here I was, thinking you’d be happy to see me back early.”

“What, from screwing every woman you met on the road?” she says, and Pepper gives her a warning look from over his shoulder.

He grumbles, “I don’t have time for this,” and is gone with nothing but a head shake in the direction of his study. She stares incredulously after him, like every time she sees him he somehow has a worse attitude.

“I’m sorry,” starts Pepper, walking up to her. “I tried going up to find you, but you weren’t in your room… obviously.”

“No, it’s fine,” Bobbi assures her. “It’s just a bummer, is all. I’d have liked to enjoyed the rest of my holidays without him.”

“Tell me about it,” Pepper agrees. “He walks in and thinks he owns the place.”

“He _does_ own the place,” she points out. “And careful; you don’t want him to overhear any of this.”

Pepper snorts. “What’s he going to do, fire his most reliable housekeeper yet?”

“Point.”

“Now, I believe you’ve got a guest waiting for you upstairs,” she waggles her eyebrows and Bobbi flushes.

“You weren’t supposed to know that. _How_ do you keep finding everything out, anyway?”

“Camera at the gates,” Pepper deadpans.

“You’re a spy,” Bobbi accuses before running up the stairs.

**——**

“I like your room,” Clint comments when she walks in. “It’s really spacious.”

“Thanks. It was my mom’s, before she died.” She sits on her bed and motions for Clint to join her.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” The honesty’s written bare across his face and it hurts.

“Don’t be,” she tells him. “I was young, and she didn’t get to visit me a lot after Dad won custody anyway. You know what’s my favourite part?”

“Your favourite part?” he frowns slightly.

“Of her room,” she clarifies, then points up above them at the ceiling. “That tiny skylight, right there. Every month, you can see the moon from here, for maybe three days.”

“That’s nice,” he comments, his voice lost somewhere twirling upwards until he looks back down and her throat constricts.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Puts me in my place, you know. Reminds me I’m not the only one in the world. It can feel like it, sometimes. Still not sure whether it’s a good or bad feeling.”

“I’ve never really been alone,” Clint says. “Not since I moved here when I was a kid.”

Bobbi fills in the blanks for herself, and nods. She wants to say something about the red-haired girl she’d met just a few days ago, the intriguing and quiet one who looked like she’d lost her footing in life. Instead, she leans back and says, “Wanna play Never Have I Ever?”

“Not a lot of people have genuinely wanted to know me,” says Clint, which is sad. “For who I really am.”

“Me too,” Bobbi admits. “But I think you’re pretty cool. I think you’re worth knowing.”

He ducks his head, smiling. “Okay. Never have I ever… snuck out.”

“I have. Duh,” she says. “Okay, Barton, that one was way too obvious.”

“I’ve never actually played this game before,” he defends, a little red.

“Never have I ever been good at a sport,” Bobbi says. Huh, turns out Natasha did make her way into her subconscious mind after all.

“Archery,” answers Clint, lightning-fast. “It’s what I was going to tell you that first night in your car. The reason I have such good aim is because of archery. I’ve never been able to afford actual equipment, but I made do. I even taught Natasha.

“Have I told you about Natasha? I must have, at some point,” he says without stopping on the high of the night, and Bobbi’s heart sinks, because one look at the widest, warmest smile she’s ever seen on his face and she knows the truth for real now. “She’s—my best friend. The smartest. The strongest. We haven’t been talking, but I miss her. We used to do everything together. She learned sign language for me.

“I was wrong, wasn’t I?” he abruptly asks. “To just have… walked away like that. I must’ve really hurt her.”

“I guess,” Bobbi supplies quietly once she realises he’s actually waiting for her to say something. _I guess._ Instead of _you did_ , instead of _Jesus, Barton, what did you even do because when I saw her she looked shaken and her mascara was fresh and my gut can’t help but think it’s got something to do with you_.

“But I don’t,” Clint starts, then tries again, “I don’t know if she could ever miss me as much as I miss her.”

“Clint,” Bobbi says, pitying. Not for him, but for herself. She doesn’t even wait for his turn. “Never have I ever fallen in love with my best friend.”

He stares back, unwavering, unafraid. “I have.”

**——**

Bobbi huffs as she makes her way through the front gates of her mansion, ducking her head so whatever secret camera Pepper had installed wouldn’t be able to see her tear-stained cheeks. The beach had been nice, but for her own sake Bobbi hopes she won’t be seeing Clint for a while.

The sun has set, and out here lights are scarce. She feels the chills beginning to creep under her sundress and wraps her arms around herself.

Yes, it’s cold, but still she heads straight for the garden. The walls of the mansion have never felt this suffocating, and she gasps in relief when she’s finally outside again in the garden.

Bobbi plops down onto her bench and shakes the sand out of her sandals. She sighs, wiping the last remnants of her tears with the heel of her palm. A few minutes pass before she hears bushes rustle.

She looks up. Lance Hunter regards her, leaning against the nearest hedge with a basket in his hand.

“Oh, hey, it’s you,” he says, concerned, or maybe just irritated. “Are you alright?”

“Hunter, I’m fine,” Bobbi says. 

“Probably a lie.” He sits down beside Bobbi on the bench. “So what’s a pretty girl like you doing crying in the dark?”

“Clint and I broke up,” she says, “on the beach.”

“Oh,” says Hunter. “How rude. Is he a douchebag? He sounds like one.”

“No, no,” she says. “Clint’s a good guy, but I’m just not the one for him. I’m not even sure if it was him that I was drawn to, or just the idea of…” Bobbi stops and thinks. _Having someone_? No, Bobbi’s been single and it doesn’t suck that much. “...not being alone,” she finishes instead.

“You’re not.”

“Oh, yeah?” she snorts. “I’ll give you ten bucks if you can name someone I’ve got.”

“Me.”

She looks up in surprise, that for some reason he’s still sitting here with her. “You’re my gardener, not my friend.”

“But I can be,” he offers. “If you want.”

She stares at him in confusion. Finally, she says, “okay.”

“There.” He claps her on the back. “You just made a new friend. You’re not alone anymore. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Guess not,” she says, ducking her head back down, not really having enough energy to even talk.

“I’d give you flowers,” says Hunter, lifting his basket to show her. “But I’ve only got weeds.”

She laughs, “I’ll take anything at this point.”

“Okay. Just… if you need anything, even if it’s not gardening-related, you can always ask me.”

“Thank you,” says Bobbi sincerely. She pauses, hesitating before asking, because this might be well above Hunter’s pay grade, but she _did_ promise Clint and Hunter’s funny and she’s sure Natasha will have great food. “Okay, Hunter… you ever been to a party before?”

**——**

_For the hope of it all._

**Author's Note:**

> BRYCE BESTIE!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY I LOVE U SO SO MUCH!! thank u for being my friend ur literally the most relatable person ever and thank you for screaming over really good clintasha fics with me idk what i would do without you and ur moral support (especially after s*tb*ym) and i thank fate every day that i sent that tweet that was like "ao3 user clintasherson if ur out there thank u for the comment" ILYSM I HOPE U HAVE A GREAT DAY AND YEAR AND I HOPE U LIKE THIS FIC EVEN THOUGH I RUSH WROTE IT U DESERVE THE WORLDDDD  
> -  
> and to everyone else thank u for reading i hope u enjoyed the second part of this series :) next one is the last one 💔


End file.
